


Bloodied Feathers and Broken Wings

by evilwriter37



Category: Supernatural
Genre: British MoL suck, But it's okay 'cause I had fun, Castiel is Not Okay, Dean finally admits his feelings, Dean uses a dramatic entrance, Destiel - Freeform, Graphic Torture, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Mr. Ketch is psychotic, Physical and emotional healing, Sam Ships It, Sam and Dean are awesome, especially emotionally, especially one guy in particular, my hand slipped, or someone, physical and emotional torture, there may be a blowjob somewhere in here, whoops I broke something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Castiel is captured and tortured by Mr. Ketch. Sam and Dean have to deal with the aftermath and try to put him back together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I actually love Castiel. A lot. Like, he's my favorite character.

The last thing Castiel had expected was to be attacked. He had left the bunker a couple of hours ago and had stopped to gas up his truck. It came from behind. There was a sharp sting in his neck that made him gasp and stumble forward a step or two. He dropped the nozzle to the gas pump, spilling the liquid on his shoes and all over the cement. He brought a hand to the back of his neck, found something sticking out of the skin there, and yanked it out, bringing it forward to study it.

It was a small dart. He looked at it for a second, perplexed. If it had some sort of sedative it would have no effect on him. Why would anyone even bother trying?

Cas lifted his head and looked around, more curious than concerned, wondering where it could have come from.

"Hello, angel."

He whipped around at the voice. It was British and male - calm, icy. A dark haired man in a suit was standing a few feet away from him, a black rifle held casually in his right hand. Seeing as the gas station was basically in the middle of nowhere and that they were concealed behind the truck, it made sense that he could openly carry.

Cas said nothing in response, just tilted his head as he studied this human. He was obviously the one who had shot him. Why did he think it would do any good?

"That dart's an interesting little thing," he said, gesturing to it with his free hand. "There was a potion in it, you see. Never actually used it on an angel before. Are you feeling its effects yet?"

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded, dropping the dart and slipping his smooth blade into his hand.

"Lovely weapon you have there," the man commented. He didn't seem fazed in the least, something that set a spark of annoyance. He should be intimidated by him.

"I asked you a question," Cas snapped, striding forward.

"Ah! Not another step." The man leveled the rifle at him. "Mr. Ketch. British Men of Letters. Hm, perhaps I do have to shoot you again. The one dart doesn't seem to have done the trick."

Cas twisted his angel blade in his hand, grating his teeth.

"I thought you were going to leave us alone."

"Yes, well, change of plans. I've been sent to collect you. Do you by any chance know where the Winchesters are?" He moved the rifle, aiming at his chest.

"And why would I tell you?" Cas asked him with an air of arrogance, trying to hide that he was growing afraid of this man. His limbs were beginning to feel weak and his hands were shaking. Whatever had been in the dart seemed to have started working.

"Because this time I'm asking nicely." His voice was still just smooth confidence. His finger moved towards the trigger. "Another one of these seems to be in order."

With a shout, Castiel lunged at him, blade raised, but there was a click, a pain in his chest, and he was stopped short. There was a chilling parody of a smile on Mr. Ketch's face, and a dart lodged in his chest.

Cas glared at the man as he crumpled to his knees, angel blade falling from trembling fingers to clang on the pavement. He was feeling too weak to hold himself up, tired even. His vision was tunneling into darkness. He felt his cheek hit hard ground and then there was nothing.

 

Cas was awoken by a tugging on his arms and the faint sound of metal rattling. He quickly realized that he was standing, and that his wrists were cuffed together and chained somewhere above his head. All his clothes had been removed save for his underwear. Wherever he was smelled strongly of mold and dust.

“Awake yet, angel?” That annoyingly arrogant voice came from somewhere in front of him.

Despite the ache in his head and his unwillingness to be here, Cas opened his eyes. His gaze flitted briefly over his surroundings before landing on Mr. Ketch. By the light filtering in through the cracks in the walls and the ceiling, he could see that he had removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then covered himself with a plastic apron.

“What do you want of me?” Cas asked, lifting his head to study the cuffs around his wrists. Just as he had suspected, there was Enochian etched into the metal.

“Oh, I simply want to talk,” the man responded, and Cas brought his gaze back to him. “I’m hoping you’ll comply.”

“Not likely.” Noticing how close Mr. Ketch was, he kicked out fiercely with his right foot. Even weakened by the cuffs and whatever had been in the darts, it should still deal a lot of damage to a human.

The man sidestepped and caught his ankle under his arm, grasped tightly at his calf with two hands.

“Would you like me to break this, angel?” he asked ever so calmly, the words stirring a heat in Cas’ belly. “Or perhaps your toes? One by one.”

“My name is Castiel.” His voice was rough.

“Well, Castiel, I advise you to not kick me again unless you wish for your bones to be snapped. That sound fair?”

“I suppose that depends on how you define what _fair_ is,” Cas growled at him.

Mr. Ketch pulled his lips back in a smile, releasing Cas’ leg. “Alright then.” He clapped his hands together, then folded them in front of him. “How would you like to do this?”

Cas was a little taken aback by the question. This man’s mannerisms were strange to say the least. He had no answer.

“I mean, it is really up to you,” Mr. Ketch said with a shrug. “You can just tell me where the Winchesters are and what they’ve been up to and I can let you go, or we can find out if red is a good color on you.”

“I’ve tried it before. It’s really not.”

Mr. Ketch laughed a little. “You’re a humorous one!” he exclaimed. “I thought angels couldn’t make jokes.” He stepped to the side, gesturing to a table behind him with a wide sweep of his arm. There were all sorts of implements on it meant for stabbing, slicing, tearing, crushing… anything meant to inflict pain. His angel blade was among them. “Now, which one do you like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if you’re not going to talk you should at least pick one,” Mr. Ketch explained cheerily.

“You’re insane,” Cas stated flatly, horror twisting his insides. The man wanted him to choose what he was going to be _tortured_ with?

“Pfft! That’s all relative, isn’t it?” He leaned down and picked up a coiled whip. “How about this one? Like it?”

“Isn’t the sound of your voice torture enough?”

“Okay then.” He put it down, chose a long, narrow spike. “What do you think of this one, Castiel?”

 _I’m actually going to have to choose, aren’t I?_ Cas looked over the rest of the items on the table, swallowing hard. Fear was thick in his throat. The other instruments looked much more horrible than the ones suggested.

“It will do,” he forced out, voice hoarse.

“Excellent!” Mr. Ketch stepped over to him with a wide smile. Cas felt his breathing accelerate, ice washing through his veins. He watched as the man looked him over, deciding where to begin. “This is going to be much more fun than a human, seeing as I don’t have to worry about killing you.” He tapped the spike on Cas’ bare chest and he flinched. “I could stab you right in the heart and you’d keep on screaming.”

“Please don’t,” Cas said quietly, closing his eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“Then tell me where your friends are.” He stroked the edge of the spike over the right side of Cas’ face, causing a sharp inhale. “I’m not asking much of you, Castiel. It’s really a simple answer.”

Cas inhaled deeply, trying to draw in his courage. He opened his eyes, stared right into the ones of this crazed human in front of him.

“No.”

And Mr. Ketch just smiled at him, a sadistic pleasure dancing in his eyes.

“Just remember that this was your choice, Castiel.” He looked over his body again; a human would have shuddered under that gaze.

He closed his eyes as he felt the point of the spike press against the center of his stomach above his navel, breaths heaving in and out. He could take this. He would. For Sam and Dean.

Castiel’s breath left him in a grunt as the spike dug into his flesh. It didn’t take long to draw a scream out of him. Mr. Ketch just kept pushing it into him, piercing organs and tissue. A slow trickle of blood started its way down his abdomen.

He wanted to thrash and struggle, but he knew that would make it hurt more. Besides, he had no chance of escape right now. So, he just stood still and screamed, screamed till he was choking at the sensation of the spike grating against his spine.

“Angel, tell me: Does it hurt more when I twist it?”

Cas yelled in response as Mr. Ketch did just that, adding to the pain of the awful, burning hole inside of him.

“Good answer,” he commented, pulling another shout out of Cas as he withdrew the spike in a rush of blood. He was still as cool and collected as ever. “Hm, I wonder how long that will take to heal with your powers weakened.”

“Stop talking,” Cas choked out.

“But I told you I wanted to talk.” He could feel Mr. Ketch’s eyes going over him, studying every inch. His gaze made him feel violated. “All the possibilities,” he breathed in what sounded like wonder. “I have to forget about the constraints used while torturing a human, because you can withstand so much more.”

Cas gasped as he felt the spike brush against his left ear, go inside. He twisted his head away, but Mr. Ketch grabbed him roughly by the chin and held him in place.

“No, no,” he pleaded quietly.

For a brief second it didn’t hurt, but then there was an awful, building pressure as the man just slowly slid the sharp metal into his ear. The pressure built to a point that made Cas cry out. There was a horrendous pop and gush of blood. He shrieked as the spike was driven uncaringly through the structures of his inner ear. More pressure, building pain, and then it just slid right through and into his brain.

He shrieked and thrashed, wanted to kick Mr. Ketch as hard as he could. But he didn’t. He’d rather be standing on two functional legs than broken ones.

Then the spike was gone, hot blood dashing out of the wound as it was withdrawn. Cas heaved a painful breath, feeling some relief.

“You see, a human would have died a moment ago,” Mr. Ketch told him. His voice sounded different with the hearing in his left ear demolished. “But you…” There was a horrible-sounding chuckle that rose from his chest. “This is proving to be rather fun. What do you think?”

“I-I think that… That when you die y-you’re going to Hell.” The words were an effort, but he truly believed them. This man was revolting, an abomination of human nature. Who knows what else he had done before this? And just this alone, a human torturing an _angel_ , was enough to warrant eternal damnation.

“Ah, well, I’m not dead yet, now am I?”

“Unfortunately.”

Then the spike pierced him in his right side, sliding between two ribs and puncturing his lung. Cas screamed at the pain until blood crawled up his throat and choked him. He coughed and gagged, the actions made all the more worse by the spike still in him.

“That’s it, angel.” His tone was gentle yet condescending. “Cough it out.” He twisted the spike and Cas pulled in a wheezing, gurgling gasp. It was a good thing he didn’t actually have to breathe, otherwise he’d be suffocating. Still, his lungs fought to get out the blood, and the movements just tore a bigger hole in him.

After about a minute of coughing and struggling and suffering, Mr. Ketch pulled the spike out of his side. Cas was left to hack up more blood. His lips and chin were stained red.

“I think we’re done with this little instrument, don’t you think?” Mr. Ketch asked. The way he asked it was infuriating: it was as if he had simply inquired about the weather. There were footsteps and a small clang as he placed it back on the table. “Now what should we try? Talking, perhaps? Telling me what I need to know?”

“I’ll take the whip, thank you,” Cas rasped out without opening his eyes. He spat blood on the floor. He’d rather endure this than give up the only friends he’d ever had.

“You’re a man of taste I see,” Mr. Ketch commented. Cas sensed movement and then there was a snap in the air next to his head. “I haven’t gotten to use this in a while.”

The next lash of the whip landed on his chest, splitting skin and leaving a streak of red. Cas cried out and twisted his body. He was hardly given a break before the whip hit him again, curling across his shoulder and splitting flesh on his back. Then his face, his chest again, his thighs, his stomach, his shins, his shoulder. It went on and on like that, Cas losing count of how many times he was struck with the whip, how many times he thrashed and shouted.  
It was stopped by a buzzing sound. Cas squinted his eyes open to find the source of it, saw his phone on the table with the screen lit up. Dean was calling him.

“What an opportune time for him to call.” Mr. Ketch said it with a hint of annoyance, snapping the whip to get the blood off of it. He picked up the vibrating phone with his free hand and looked back to Cas. “Deviate from a normal conversation in the least and I’ll hang up and shoot your kneecaps.” He told him this as calmly as if announcing that he was making spaghetti for dinner.

Cas nodded a little in understanding, so Mr. Ketch pressed the green icon on the screen and held the phone to his undamaged right ear.

“Hello, Dean.” He schooled his voice into its normal tone, trying to block out the pain in his body.

“Hey, buddy.” There was a smile in Dean’s words. “Just wanted to call and see how you were doing.”

“Dean, I only left this morning.” This was so hard. He just wanted to tell him, to just start pleading for help. What would the Winchesters do in this position? What was their code word for something like this?

“Yeah, well there’s a storm heading your way. Wanted to give you a heads up, tell you to drive safe and all that.”

He would have smiled at Dean’s innocent concern for him if he weren’t in such a strenuous situation.

“I’m aware,” Cas responded. He’d just remembered one of the code words, and he knew how to work it into a sentence without causing Mr. Ketch any alarm. “The severe storm warning interrupted Funky Town on the radio.”

There was a moment of silence, of Dean taking in what he’d just said.

“Cas, you dork, listening to music like that.” He sounded as if he’d gotten punched in the stomach. He obviously understood, but kept up a normal conversation just in case anyone was listening. For all Cas knew, Mr. Ketch could overhear him on the other line.

“What? I like it.”

Dean forced a chuckle. “Alright, Cas. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

 _Yes, yes, they’re coming to get me. They’ll find me._ Cas felt a surge of hope and relief.

“Okay, Dean. Talk to you later.”

Mr. Ketch ended the call and drew the phone away from his ear. He tossed it on the table.

“That was a specific song choice,” he noted.

Anxiety spread hot through Cas’ body. He hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I liked it,” Cas replied gruffly.

Mr. Ketch _hmphed._ “You have an awful taste in music. Now, where were we?”

 

“ _Sam!_ ”

Dean sprang into action as soon as he got off the phone, leaping up from his chair in the library. Cas had used one of the code words. He was in trouble. Bad trouble too. Despite what had probably been Cas’ best efforts, he could hear pain in his voice.

_God, someone’s torturing him._

He nearly crushed his phone out of anger as he jogged down the hallway to Sam’s room. He banged loudly on the door.

“Come on, Sam! We gotta go!”

His brother opened the door, looking startled but bedraggled. He must have been napping. Good, he needed more sleep.

“What is it?” His brows furrowed together in concern.

“It’s Cas. He’s in trouble. Come on.” Without an answer, he turned and headed back down the hallway. There was no time to lose.

“Wait, how do you know?” Sam asked, catching up easily with his longer strides.

“I called him, just to let him know a storm was heading his way, and he said funky town,” Dean explained. “He sounded hurt.” He felt jittery, on the verge of panic. It was the same way he’d felt when he’d found out Sam was missing. It was awful. People really needed to stop going after the ones he loved.

“Did he manage to sneak in a location?” His younger brother sounded perfectly awake and alert now.

Dean shook his head. “But he told me where he was headed before he left, so at least we know what direction he was going in before somebody nabbed him.”

“An angel, do you think?”

“I don’t know, man,” Dean answered, despairing and honest. Too many people wanted Castiel dead and gone for his liking. He entered the bunker’s garage, pulling the Impala’s keys out of his pocket. “But I say we head out there and try to find some trace of him.”

 

Castiel was currently wishing for the human ability to pass out from pain. It was horrible and he just wanted a little reprieve from it, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting one anytime soon. Once done with the whip, Cas had very reluctantly chosen Mr. Ketch’s skinning knife. There was no option of anything less painful out of the instruments he’d laid out on the table, but he’d rather have this over the bone saw that had been suggested.

He screamed through gritted teeth as the human finished removing a piece of skin from his right shoulder, then was left gasping.

“Delightful,” Mr. Ketch said, mostly to himself, though the next comment was addressed to Castiel. “I do very much like your choice in torture. People don’t appreciate the art of skinning as much as they used to.”

“You’re… You’re a monster,” Castiel managed to get out through the pain racking his body. He could feel his brain slowly healing itself, but that seemed to be all his dampened powers could manage. He hurt everywhere, had lost track of where one wound stopped and another began.

“Yes, that isn’t news to me,” the Brit responded, sounding a little thoughtful. “Though I really have no problem with it. Where should I get skin from next? One of your legs perhaps? They have been a little neglected.”

Cas didn’t answer, just wondered if perhaps he could get away with kicking him. That idea quickly got shut down though. He was hurting too much for a kick to do much damage.

“These are going to have to go though,” Mr. Ketch continued, tugging on his boxers, which were soaked through with blood. “Clothing really can be a nuisance sometimes."

Castiel didn’t care that this man was going to see him naked. Nudity was no problem for him, but what bothered him about it was that he’d be more exposed. He prayed that he’d stay away from his genitals.

Mr. Ketch tugged the blood-soaked garment down around his ankles, then ordered Cas to step out of it. He had no choice but to do so. Then the man knelt in front of him, tapped his blade against his upper left thigh.

“Should I start here?”

“Just do it!” Cas spat angrily at him. He didn’t like this man’s techniques of talking and waiting, all things to build up fear and tension. It was wearing down on his psyche, and if he could get tired he would be.

“A little eager, I see.” He spoke as he dug the blade into his skin. The movement was slow, and Cas hissed at the sensation.

“Please stop,” he croaked out. He knew that begging and pleading was useless, but some part of him still felt the need to do it, to find a way to end this.

Mr. Ketch sliced away a little more and Cas yelped.

“Then tell me about Sam and Dean Winchester.”

_No! I can’t!_

“Never.”

He continued slicing away at the skin of his thigh; Castiel groaned and shouted.

“Your loyalty to them is remarkable, Castiel. I’ve never heard of an angel putting himself through something so excruciating for a human.”

“I’m not – _argh!_ – like th-the other – _hugh!_ – angels.”

“Apparently not. Most would have just given me the information already.”

Cas screamed loudly as he peeled away his skin all the way down to his knee and severed it. There was a wet slapping sound as it hit the hard floor.

“Though I thank you for that really. You are very, _very_ entertaining.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“I will when I feel like it,” Mr. Ketch responded cheerily. “Now, angel, want me to do the other thigh?”

“I don’t care what you do.” Cas opened his eyes and glared down at him. “I’m still not going to tell you anything!”

Mr. Ketch pouted mockingly at him, patted his other leg. “Oh, you poor thing. You actually think you’re going to win this game. This isn’t even the worst of what I can do to you, but I’m saving that for later. Dessert is always more satisfying after dinner.”

Cas curled his lip in disgust. He had the urge to spit on him. At the same time though, his heart pounded hard and ice and fear twirled through his veins and stomach, nearly to the point of making him feel sick. What worse things could this abominable human do to him?

“I see I’ve gotten your mind racing.” There was a tiny smile on his face. “Good. It’s always fun when they think about it.”

Cas just closed his eyes again, feeling defeated and powerless. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, the first sign of the approaching storm Dean had mentioned.

“Ah, a storm,” Mr. Ketch mused as he pierced his other leg. “I really do like those.”

Castiel flinched and jolted and screamed. He wished to be free of these chains that had cut his power down to almost nothing. He wished to smite the man in front of him and watch his eyes turn to ash as he burned out the inside of his head, to hear him scream. He deserved worse, Cas knew, but he couldn’t deal that out. It wasn’t like him. A violent death was the best he could hope to do.

His screams ended once the flesh was torn away, leaving more hot blood to trickle down his already generously coated body. There was just so much of it, pooling around him, staining his lips, splattered on Mr. Ketch’s hands and apron, but it wouldn’t kill him. Nothing the man had would kill him save for his angel blade.

 _Do not think of death,_ Castiel schooled himself. _Sam and Dean are coming. They’ll find me. I just have to wait._

 

“Wait, Dean! That’s Cas’ truck!” Sam exclaimed, pointing through the windshield at an approaching gas station.

Dean swerved into the lot, parked the Impala next to the beat-up red pickup. It had been left nicely parked in front of the little convenience store. He felt a spark of hope – maybe somebody had seen what had happened! – but it was quickly dashed by the sign on the door that spelled out ‘Closed’ in red lettering.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered to himself, killing the engine and getting out of the car. He swung the door closed a little too hard, circling around to Cas’ abandoned truck. Sam joined him.

He studied the vehicle, but there was no sign of damage to it or anything that seemed out of place.

“He couldn’t have been taken too far, right?” Sam questioned.

“I hope not.” Dean wished that he could use the GPS in Cas’ phone, but whoever had taken him had been smart enough to turn it off. This was beyond frustrating. He just wanted to find his friend and make sure he was okay!

He began pacing around the parking lot as Sam circled around the store, eyes on the ground, looking for any clue that could be useful. That’s when he noticed tire tracks in the dirt a few feet away from the lot. He jogged over to them, knelt down to inspect them.

“You find something?” Sam called, coming over.

“Tire tracks,” Dean stated, standing straight. “But they could be from anyone.” He shook his head. “This is hopeless, Sam.” He looked towards the sky that had been turned orange and red from the setting sun. Miles off he could see dark, looming storm clouds. There was a streak of lightning and thunder cracked the air.

“Maybe not, Dean. We just keep heading in that direction and check out the first town we run across. That’s probably where he is. Then we scope out every abandoned building there.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded a little, but then hung his head. That really wasn’t much of a plan. What if Cas wasn’t there? He wished there were more things to help them out, but there wasn’t even a clue as to _who_ had kidnapped the angel.

Sam clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get him.”

 

The storm had hit in full force, eating up whatever light there had been, the rundown building they were in creaking and groaning with each gale of wind. Rain was leaking in through the gaps in the walls and ceiling. Lightning struck violently and the thunder crashed and rolled like giant bass drums in the sky.  


Castiel had hoped that the storm would deter Mr. Ketch and that he would leave and take shelter somewhere, but that wasn’t the case. The man had made a comment about the weather and the fall of night not dampening their “fun” and had lit a battery-powered lamp. For about the tenth time that day, Cas questioned the human’s sanity.

“I really don’t think you understand that I’m not going to tell you about the Winchesters,” Cas rasped out. His voice was hoarse from all his screaming.

Mr. Ketch chuckled as he placed the blowtorch down on the table that was now too covered in his blood. “Just you wait, angel. I’ve got something quite special in mind. My tour de force. Then you’ll be spilling anything I want you to.” He turned back to him with a smile that looked ghostly in the dim light that surrounded the two of them in a small circle.

Cas had it in him to roll his eyes after getting a glimpse of what he held in one hand. “My angel blade? Really? Out of everything you’ve done to me, that’s not very creative. You think I haven’t felt its sting before?”

Honestly, Cas was terrified, because he knew that Mr. Ketch had something else in mind, some grand and horrifying form of suffering. He closed his eyes as the man circled around to his back.

_Sam, Dean, please hurry._

“I’m thinking this trick will impress you,” the Brit said, pressing the tip of the blade just beneath Cas’ neck. “Oh, I’ve been dying to use it.” He began to carve into his back.

Cas screamed and tried to arch away from it, but was stopped by an arm wrapping around his front and a hand pressing into his chest, making all the wounds there protest and burn.

A blue light seeped out of the lines that Mr. Ketch drew into Castiel’s back, accompanied by a faint, clear ringing. Cutting into his grace like that was agony, and he wished there was a way to make it stop.

Through the pain racking him, he realized with a sense of horror that he was carving some sort of Enochian sigil into him. He wasn’t familiar with it, and that scared him even more.

“No! No, stop!”

He tried fighting, kicking his feet backwards, squirming, pulling on his chains, but he was too weak to make any impact. After a bit Mr. Ketch let go of him. But it didn’t matter. He had finished the sigil.

Cas flinched and yelped as he felt the man’s hand press into it, expected something horrible to happen at the touch. He almost felt some relief when there was nothing, but that changed when the man spoke.

“Castiel, I command you: show me your wings.”

No! No, he couldn’t! Not to this human! Not ever! But that didn’t matter. Whatever magic the sigil had was working, pulling at his grace, compelling his wings towards this plane of existence where they’d be exposed and vulnerable.

“ _No…_ ” Cas moaned, fighting the sensation he felt pulling at his gut. He couldn’t let this happen. “No, _please._ ”

Mr. Ketch just pressed harder at the sigil in his back. “Castiel, I command you! Show me your wings!”

He couldn’t fight it. It was just too strong. It felt like there was something tearing through him, tugging on his grace and his wings.

He gave a wordless shout and there was a bright flash of light. It engulfed everything in the room in blinding glory. It faded to show his wings, huge things that would have been about thirteen and a half feet stretched out… if all the feathers were grown in. He was still healing from the Fall and most of his feathers had grown back, but his large flight feathers were still working on it. The shorter ones closer to his back were full and new, but the longer ones were only about half grown, meaning they were filled with blood and sensitive to the slightest touch. His wings were golden-brown in color, almost like brass.

Neither of them spoke. All that could be heard was the rain and the thunder and Cas’ shuddering breaths. He felt tears building in his eyes. Now he felt naked. This terrible abomination of a man was seeing a part of him that was meant for no one but his fellow angels.

And then he _touched_ him, ran a hand gently over the curve of his right wing. Castiel drew in a sharp breath, a shiver coursing up his spine. No. _No._ This was just wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this.

“Beautiful,” Mr. Ketch breathed, and his voice drew a sob past Cas’ lips. This wasn’t just him simply seeing and touching: this was a violation of Castiel’s _grace_ , of his _being_. He didn’t _want_ this.

“Stop it!” he cried out. “Please!” Oh, he couldn’t stand his touch, the way his fingers brushed through his feathers. It wasn’t _right._

Mr. Ketch _tsked_ when he noticed the stunted flight feathers. “You poor creature. Did the Fall do this to you?” His voice was sweet, but poison was said to be sweet.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t! Stop!” Castiel thrashed and squirmed, flapped his wings in a panic, tears flowing in an uncontrolled stream down his face.

Mr. Ketch’s fingers glided across the half-grown flight feathers, sparking a terrible pain through him that froze his movements and made him cry out.

“ _Stop!_ ” Cas sobbed, hanging his head. “Please, please! You have to!”

“Then tell me about the Winchesters, dear angel.”

Cas didn’t say anything. He would never tell this man anything about the Winchesters.

“Nothing?” His fingers grazed over the flight feathers. Cas hissed through his teeth at the pain. “Alright then. I suppose I’ll continue.”

_No, no, please._

Castiel roared as the angel blade sliced across the growing feathers on his right wing. He arched away from it, flapped the wing, but Mr. Ketch just grabbed it in a painfully firm grip and kept on cutting. Blood sprayed absolutely everywhere.

And the _pain._ Oh he’d never felt this kind of agony before. He thought he’d already endured the worst of what could be done to him, but this… He’d never wanted to die so badly.

He had stopped slicing, but only because all the flight feathers were gone, the exposed nubs of the severed feathers trickling and dripping red.

“ _Stop…_ ” Cas pleaded, sobbing.

“Then tell me where the Winchesters are.” He was caressing his left wing now.

He actually considered it for a moment. It would bring this to an end, would stop Mr. Ketch from doing anything else horrible to his wings.

 _No. I can’t._ He cut those thoughts short. Sam and Dean were too important to him, too important to the very _world._ He was _not_ going to give them up.

“Castiel, tell me.”

He gritted his teeth. He wanted that infuriatingly gentle voice to stop, wanted the owner of it to _just stop touching his wings._

“No.”

The flight feathers of his left wing were gone a moment later, drifting down to the floor, followed by a gush of blood. The thunder wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out Castiel’s bellows.

He was crying hard now, harder than he’d ever cried in his extremely long life. He felt violated on a level that he had previously thought impossible. His wings, his _wings!_ He had no right! His very being was aching from the torment done to them. Miraculously, he felt like he was going to faint.

“Angel, answer me.” There was a small clang as the angel blade was placed on the floor.

“No.”

“Even after all this?” Mr. Ketch asked, brushing his fingers through the lighter feathers at the top of his right wing, no doubt staining them with blood. “Gosh, these really are soft, aren’t they?”

No, he wasn’t supposed to say that, wasn’t supposed to have the knowledge of what those feathers felt like. Cas felt _sick._

“I-I said no.”

“Hm, I do wonder how much force it would take to break this,” Mr. Ketch mused, taking ahold of his wing with two hands. “Shall we find out?”

“No, no, no!” His stomach bottomed out, setting him shaking. “No!”

“Then where are they?!” He shouted it, actually raised his voice. He was definitely losing his patience.

“I’m n-not telling y-you anything!” Cas spat it out as best as he could through his sobs. For the first time through that torturous day, he prayed to God. This was going to _hurt._ He wanted the pain to go away, for someone to save him from this atrocity.

The man ran his grip down his wing, towards the thinner part of the bone. Cas wanted to die. He needed to. He stopped breathing as his hold tightened to the point of pain, just waiting. Those few seconds before it happened seemed to be drawn out. He’d watched whole centuries going by without batting an eye, but those seconds seemed like an eternity.

_Crack!_

Castiel screeched as agony like none other pierced him. It was like all the tortures and torments in his life compounded into one single moment and place. He shouted, he screamed, he sobbed, and his voice was like knives scraping against his raw throat, but he couldn’t stop. He lost sense of everything else around him save for that break in his wing, couldn’t feel his feet on the floor anymore, or the cuffs around his wrists, not even the rest of the wounds that decorated his body so grotesquely: his existence was only this.

Though he did register the hand suddenly clapped over his mouth to quiet him, and the voice that was so close to his ear.

“Where are the Winchesters?!”

There was a sudden bang as if a door had been slammed open.

“Right here, you son of a bitch!”

Dean! That was Dean’s voice! Giddy relief washed through Castiel’s body and impossibly, but finally, he passed out.

 

Dean had made a grand entrance with Sam a step behind him, but now he just stood there, lowering his gun a bit, mouth gaping open.

There was blood _everywhere_ , visible by the yellow glow of an electric lamp that sat on a table beside awful instruments covered in more red. It was all over Cas, barely a space on him free of it. And were those… were those his wings? The feathers were sullied with scarlet and his right one was bent at the oddest of angles.

Anger hit him first. Then fear was added to the mix, fear for Cas. He almost felt like he was going to vomit.

Sam took action while he stood there dumbly, shoving him aside and striding past him, gun raised.

“Step away from him!”

“Ah, you must be Sam.” The man spoke with an immaculate British accent, and though he looked surprised, he certainly didn’t sound it. “How did you find us?”

“Quit talking and back away.” Sam’s voice shook with rage.

That brought Dean back. He stepped forward, pointing his gun at the man as well.

The man stepped away from Castiel, blood-coated hands raised. “I already know who you two are, but perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m-”

“I don’t give a damn who you are!” Dean yelled. He fingered the trigger of his gun.

The Brit was fast. Dean couldn’t do much else but dodge as an instrument was picked up from the table and thrown at them. Then the man lunged at him, tackling him to the floor. His attack was interrupted by Sam’s foot jarring into his ribs and kicking him off of him.

“Dean! Get Cas!” Sam shouted to him.

Dean scrambled to his feet, raced towards Cas before he was even up straight. He could hear Sam and the British man struggling behind him.

_Goddammit, those cuffs are Enochian._

He looked around frantically for some way to break or unlock them. He spotted the angel blade on the floor among bloody feathers, but that wouldn't do anything. He noticed a silver key on the table of torture instruments. He darted over to it and grabbed at them, blood getting on his fingers. He tried not to think about the fact that it was Cas'.

Dean hurried back over to his friend, who actually seemed to be unconscious. He spoke to him anyway as he reached up his hands and worked at the cuffs.

"Okay, buddy, I got ya. You're gonna be okay. I got ya."

He fell as dead weight as soon as the cuffs opened. Dean caught him as best he could with his hands full and lowered him to the floor. His wings were an added weight and he couldn't hope to hold him up on his own.

A gunshot blasted through the sound of the thunder and pouring rain. 

Dean jerked his head up, looking for Sam, hoping he was the one doing the shooting. He saw his brother's large silhouette standing over a still form on the floor, gun still pointed.

"Please tell me you killed the bastard," Dean called to him. 

Sam lowered the gun, prodded his foot at the man on the ground. "Yeah, I got him."

Dean heaved a huge sigh of relief. Of course he thought a bullet was too merciful of a way to go for that man after what he'd done to Cas, but it was better that he was dead than alive.

"I think he was British Men of Letters." Sam sounded stunned.

Dean frowned, looked down at Cas' blood-stained face. "That would explain the Enochian handcuffs." Noticing for the first time that the angel was naked, Dean rested his weight in his lap, put down his gun and the key, and shrugged out of his jacket. It was soaked through with cold rainwater, but he didn't have anything better. He didn't think Cas felt temperature. He carefully draped it over his front as Sam came over to crouch by them. His gaze was fixated on the wings. Dean had purposefully not been looking at them. It didn't feel right. Besides, they were a gruesome sight. Not that the rest of his body wasn't but... what had been done to his wings felt wrong on a whole other level.

"What do we do?" Sam asked quietly, sounding at a loss.

"We get him in the car and floor it back to the bunker," Dean answered. He dug around in his pocket with one now-bloody hand and held the keys out to Sam. "You drive. I'll stay in the back with him."

Sam pocketed the keys, went back to examining Cas with a look of horror in his eyes. His exterior was calm though, serious. That was good, because Dean was inwardly, and maybe even a little outwardly, panicking. His hands were shaking and he was breathing too fast, but still, he made himself stick his gun in the back of his pants after turning on the safety.

_Dammit! Get yourself under control, Dean! He's gonna be fine. It's not like he can die of blood loss._

"Help me lift him. Grab his legs."

"What about-"

"Just get his legs, Sam."

Dean stood, took ahold of Cas under his wings and arms. Sam took a grip just underneath his knees and together they lifted him. Dean nearly lost his grip due to all the blood and the extra weight of the wings. He held on harder, probably leaving bruises, but it was better than dropping him.

They shuffled awkwardly out of the abandoned warehouse, Cas' wings brushing the ground and leaving a wet trail of crimson. Dean was now generously coated in it. Thinking about it made his chest constrict a little.

Cas didn't move a muscle or make a sound the entire time, even when they brought him out into the pounding rain. At least the weather washed off some of the blood. 

Dean leaned most of Cas' weight against the car as Sam released him to open the door. Then Dean moved backwards along the backseat, taking Cas in with him as carefully as he could, Sam lifting his legs. He sat and pulled the upper part of the angel's body into his lap, slipping an arm under his wings and around his waist to support him. His other hand held him by the back of his knees. His face was pressed into Dean's stomach, his wings draped over the floor of the car. It was the best position they could manage.

"You all good, Dean?" Sam asked, poking his head in.

"Yeah, I got him. Now get in and drive." 

 

The roads were flooding and visibility was low, the windshield wipers barely doing anything against the sheets of rain.

"Dean, I really think we should stop somewhere!" Sam had to shout because the storm was so loud.

"No!" Dean practically growled it back. The weather was bad, but how could his brother even suggest such a thing? "Keep going! We're bound to drive out of it at some point!"

Sam said nothing in reply, though Dean could imagine the grudging look of frustration and determination on his face. 

Trying not to think about the storm outside, trusting Sam to navigate safely, he brought his attention to Cas. His friend hadn't shown any signs of waking since getting him in the car. Dean figured that was a good thing though. Unconsciousness would keep the pain away, and he couldn't be too comfortable in this cramped position in the Impala. Dean hoped he would be out cold for the entire seven hour ride back.

Though he could hardly see in the dark, Dean could tell that Cas wasn't healing for some reason. Nothing on his body seemed to change.

"Sammy, he's not healing," he announced loudly, worry gnawing at his stomach. What did that Brit _do_ to him?

"I noticed some kind of sigil on his back!" Sam called over another boom of thunder. "Could be that!"

"Dammit! He should be healing!" Dean nearly stomped his foot in anger and frustration. He couldn't stand seeing Cas like this, and the fact that he wasn't healing was making it even worse.

"Dean, we'll get him to the bunker." Sam's voice was much calmer than his. "He'll be okay."

 _But he's_ not _okay._ He bit back the words though. There was no point in dragging this conversation in circles. It would only due to freak him out even more.

It took almost an hour of slow driving to finally get out of the worst of the storm. The thunder was quieter and distant and the windshield wipers were actually making an impact. Sam was able to go faster.

And god, Dean was tired. He had no idea what time it was, but it was definitely past midnight. They were pretty much the only ones on the road, any other drivers swerving a little as they no doubt headed home from the bars. His muscles were tensed up, arms locked around Cas. He couldn't quite feel it at the moment, but he knew they were stiff from the position. 

It wasn't long till they hit open and empty country road, the only things around them the untamed fields and the trees. Every once in a while Dean could make out the outline of a farmhouse in the distance, but that was all. The rain and wind was tapering off and Sam didn't have to worry about speed, especially since there were no police officers out here. They were going a little over seventy miles per hour.

The unbroken speed served to make Dean feel better. There was nothing to stop them and they'd be at the bunker by morning. 

 

The first thing Cas felt was the pain. The second was that he was in Dean's arms, his face pressed against his damp clothing.

"Dean," he murmured. He didn't have the strength or the voice to muster much else. He wanted to explain to him how much pain he was in, ask him to help him, but all he managed was whimpering into his stomach. Never in his whole life had he felt so horrible and powerless.

"Hey, Cas," Dean spoke softly. His fingers brushed gently against his waist, back and forth. "I got ya. Sam and I got ya. We're heading back to the bunker right now."

"He's awake?" Questioned Sam's voice from the front seat. 

"Yeah."

Cas grabbed at Dean's forearm with his right hand, clenched his fingers tight as if touching him would make the agony stop. Tears streaked his face, soaking into Dean's already wet shirt. He felt comforted and safe by how Dean was holding him, but there was still a pit in his stomach. His wings. He wasn't supposed to see them. Nor was Sam. But they had, and Dean still was. They just lay there painfully in full view over the floor of the car.

He pooled his strength, whatever he had left, and attempted to send the wings back to their natural plane of existence. The sigil on his back burned worse, and the harder he tried, the worse it burned, until finally he let out a cry and gave up. They wouldn't go back, not with whatever that sigil was carved into his flesh. And it seemed to be keeping him from healing too.

"Cas, we're gonna get you home, okay?" Dean's voice was gentle and the sound of it brought reassurance. "We're gonna get you home and all fixed up. Sam and I will take good care of you. Don't worry about a thing."

But he _was_ worrying. The sigil in his back. The not healing. His wings being visible. A choked up sob made it past his lips.

"Shh, Cas. I got ya."

"Not suppose- not s'posed to see them!" Cas cried. "M-My wings! Not supposed t-to see them!" He fluttered them a little, tried getting rid of them again. Oh, movement was a bad idea. That hurt bad. He found himself clinging harder to Dean, burrowing his face into him and releasing a pained and distressed wail. 

"Cas, Cas, calm down." Dean's voice was a little panicky. "It would be better if you didn't move."

"B-But my wings!" He was racked by another sob. Even that hurt.

"Cas, it's okay." Dean's fingers kept stroking his waist. "Please, just take a deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth." He was going to argue that he didn't need to breathe, but Dean continued. "Okay? Do it with me. In." Dean took a slow inhale through his nose and Cas did the same. "Out." They exhaled together slowly, and despite how everything hurt, he could feel himself relaxing. "There you go. Come on, let's keep doing it. In." Dean didn't continue to give cues after that, but they were both breathing in sync, slow and deep. Soon, exhaustion overcame him and he was slipping away from consciousness.

 

Dean sat with his eyes closed, body stiff as he held onto Cas. He didn't dare let himself doze off though. He couldn't risk letting go of the angel. It was nice to rest his eyes though.

He and Sam hadn't spoken a word for hours, the urgency of the situation keeping them both quiet. Light was leaking in to the gray of the sky, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon.

Castiel stirred a little in his arms and Dean's eyes shot open. 

_Dammit, please don't wake up Cas._

"Sam, how far have we got?"

"A little less than an hour."

_Okay, might be able to keep him calm for that long._

The next sign of Cas returning to consciousness was a small, pitiful-sounding moan breathed into Dean's stomach. It broke his heart hearing that sound. It was just so unlike him, so different compared to the usual power his voice held. Never before had he heard Cas make any of the distressing, pain-filled sounds that he had in the past hours. There was a lump in his throat.

_No, hold it together, Dean._

"Dean, it hurts." Cas fisted a hand into his shirt.

"I know, buddy, I know." He kept his voice calm, comforting. "We're almost home, okay?" He adjusted his hold on him, found himself rocking him ever so slightly.

Cas made a choking sound, then all out sobbed into Dean's shirt. God, how he'd never thought he would hear that noise. Dean closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to pull himself together.

"Hey, Cas, hey, shh." He stroked his fingers across his waist. "Don't cry, man. It'll only hurt you. You wanna talk about something?"

"H-he wanted y-you and Sam," the angel spluttered. "I-I couldn't-"

"No, Cas, anything but that." Dean knew that it was only going to put him into a worse state. "Seen anything good on Netflix recently? You love Netflix. I helped you get the app on your phone, remember?"

"Yeah," he croaked out. He gripped his shirt harder, but kept on talking. "M-Marco Polo."

"Oh yeah, the traveler," Dean commented. "What's going on in it? What's it about?"

"H-His time in As-Asia. It's p-pretty accurate f-for historical fiction. D-Did you know that his father t-traded him to Kublai Kahn?"

"I had no clue," Dean responded honestly. Cas was shaking in his arms, almost violently, and Dean wondered if maybe he was cold. "Are you cold?"

Cas nodded against him. "B-but I shouldn't be."

"It's okay, man. Hey, Sam, turn on the heat, will ya?"

"Yep." His brother took a hand off the steering wheel to do just that. 

"So, got any favorite characters? How's the acting?" Dean kept on about the show, trying to keep Cas calm and distracted.

"W-Well Marco, obviously," Cas responded. "Th-the actor's actually Italian. He h-had to learn English for the show."

"That's cool."

"A-And the costumes and s-sets are really good," Cas continued. 

Dean just let Cas talk about his show, commenting here and there when it was do. The light from the rising sun made it evident just how badly hurt he was. It was difficult to tell one wound from another. He was covered in burns and lacerations, and there were whole patches of skin missing. He was completely coated in dried blood and Dean was too from holding him. It was all over his clothes and hands and the backseat of the Impala. 

_Dear god, I wish he was healing._

After a few minutes, Cas stopped talking, trading his words in for whimpers. Dean didn't force him to continue. He just kept rocking him gently, murmuring to him about how everything was going to be okay and they were going to take care of him. The words were most likely useless, but he hoped that the sound of his voice was helpful.

Finally, they pulled up to the bunker. Dean felt relief for a brief moment before he wondered how they were going to get Cas inside and down the stairs.

The car stilled and the engine quieted. For a moment none of them moved, but then Sam got out and walked around to open the back door on Dean's side.

"Cas, we're gonna get you inside," Sam told him. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," the angel rasped out. "Just... help me out please." He sounded so despairing.

It took time and struggling, but Cas ended up outside and leaning on the car, gasping for breath. Dean's jacket had been left in the back. There was really no point for it now.

"Sam, go in and get everything set up," Dean told his brother. "I'll help him inside."

With a curt, silent nod, his brother went into the bunker.

"Okay, Cas, I'm gonna help you." Dean slipped his arm under Cas' arm and his right wing. "Just lean on me, okay?"

There were tears in Cas' eyes as he nodded. He folded his wings to his back with a grunt. Dean tried not to look at them. What Cas had said earlier, though he had been in a panic, had stuck with him. Perhaps he really wasn't supposed to see them.

Together they shambled down the steps to the door of the bunker, most of Cas' weight on Dean. Straining from the extra weight, he managed to get the door open and get them both onto the stairway. Going down these stairs was much more difficult, but they eventually got down and into the war room. Sam was in the library setting up their extensive first aid kit. A bath towel was spread out on one table for Cas to lie on. Dean almost winced at the thought of how much this part was going to hurt Cas, but it was going to help him in the long run. Glancing over, he noted a grim look of determination on the angel's face.

"Okay, buddy, come on." Dean helped him up the step and into the library, then over to the table.

"I want to take care of that sigil first," Sam told him. He was currently soaking a washcloth in disinfectant. "That's definitely what's blocking your healing ability."

Cas just frowned and nodded, then rested his hands on the table to brace himself. Dean reluctantly let go of him and stepped around to the other side of the table so he wouldn't be in Sam's way. Cas slowly spread his wings when Sam approached his back, giving him access to the awful sigil carved into him. Without thinking about it, Dean reached a hand forward and grabbed onto his wrist, gave it a squeeze. His blue eyes met his with a tired, but grateful look.

Cas gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as Sam began cleaning the wound, lowering his head. Dean felt his muscles tense under his hand. He arched into the table a little, but the only sound he made was a wince. He went slack once Sam was done.

"Okay, so I can't exactly bandage that up..."

"It's fine," Cas grunted. He slowly stretched out his right wing, whimpering as he did so. "D-Do you see where the break is?" He sounded so defeated.

"Yeah, but I've never, um, I mean I've only set human bones before," Sam acknowledged nervously.

"Just think of it as a forearm," Cas instructed him.

Dean was getting nervous just watching. "Hold on. Cas, is there anything that would help with the pain?" He couldn't stand seeing him like this.

"No." The word was practically a moan. 

_I'll just do the best I can then,_ Dean surmised, undoing his belt. He slipped it out of the loops and folded it in half. "Here, bite on this." Cas opened his mouth and let him place the leather between his teeth. "And here." He took one of Cas' hands off the table, gripping it in his own. "There's my hand. Hold it as tight as you have to."

Cas met Dean's worried gaze and nodded, then shut his eyes and bowed his head again. Dean peered over Cas' shoulder and gave Sam a nod to go ahead. His brother looked terrified, but he took a deep breath, reached up his hands to the wing. Cas released a pained sound through the belt when Sam touched his wing, clenched Dean's hand.

"Okay, just like a forearm. Just like a forearm," Sam muttered to himself. Dean couldn't help turning his head away as Sam tightened his fingers.

There was a snap and Cas screamed loudly through his teeth, clutched so hard at Dean's hand that he had to hold in a groan.

_Oh yeah, definitely gonna bruise later._

The angel didn't loosen his grip for a while after, breathing heavily through his nose. He slowly began to relax though, and he reached up his free hand and took the belt out of his mouth.

"Th-thank you, Sam." His voice was choked, tears leaking from his still closed eyes. "That's much... much better."

"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat. His face was all white. "Anything else on your, uh, wings?" He seemed uncomfortable asking.

Dean could see Cas mentally steeling himself. "You see the stubs of my flight feathers? You have to pull them out. They'll eventually fall out on their own but the healing process would be much faster if they were removed now."

"Isn't that going to hurt?" Dean asked quietly as Sam turned, grabbing tweezers no doubt.

"Like getting teeth pulled out."

No, no! Dean couldn't stand this! He felt utterly helpless, wished there was something he could do to just fix him instantly. And the fact that helping would cause him more pain...

He wiped at his face, trying to pool whatever energy he had left. He couldn't lose it now. He had to keep it together for Cas.

Cas put the belt back in his mouth as Sam turned towards him. He didn't look to be doing any better than Dean, but at least his hands weren't shaking. He went to pluck the first stub on his right wing.

He screamed as each one was yanked out, held onto Dean's hand like it was the only thing helping him through this. And maybe it was.

The belt fell out of his mouth. "Stop! Stop, stop!" Sam backed away fast, holding up his hands. The tweezers were covered in blood. "Please, I-I just need a minute."

"Hey, Cas, remember the breaths we did before?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the crushing hand around his. "Let's do those again. And look at me, okay?"

Castiel nodded a little, his eyes flitting open and meeting Dean's. They began to breathe together without any cues. They didn't need any. It was like they were talking through their gazes. And god, Cas' eyes were just telling him the agony he was in, the terror he felt at his wings being exposed. Looking into those blue depths, Dean realized that what that man had done, forcing Cas to show his wings and then hurting them, was practically the equivalent of rape. He'd seen that same look in Sam's eyes those few times he had talked about Lucifer. The emotions were not unfamiliar to him.

 _Cas, I'm sorry._ He was apologizing for seeing his wings, for Sam having to handle them, though there was nothing that could be done for it. That's what made it worse. It wasn't Cas' choice.

"Sam, I'm ready." Cas still didn't take his eyes off of Dean's as he put the belt back in his mouth. He seemed to have found some emotional anchor there.

Dean nearly lost it when Cas' screaming resumed, almost started tearing up, but he held them back. If Cas saw strength and comfort in his eyes, he had to keep it that way.

Minutes later, Cas slumped over the table, belt falling out of his mouth. Sam was setting the tweezers aside. That part was done. 

Then they had Cas lay out on his back on the table, Dean not once letting go of his hand. He positioned himself by his head, found himself pressing a kiss to his forehead. Screw it if Sam was there. Screw all the times he'd said Cas was just his friend. Screw all those frigging lies he'd been telling himself and everyone else for years. Cas _needed_ him.

Disinfecting the rest of his wounds wasn't as bad as taking care of his wings, but Cas still clamped his teeth around the belt and squeezed Dean's hand. He mostly kept his eyes closed, but every once in a while he would open them and look at him, and Dean tried to give comfort back through his gaze. It was difficult. He was emotionally and physically exhausted.

Everything fell silent when Sam found a hole in his abdomen. His face was turning green.

"Cas, are there anymore of those?" His voice was almost an octave higher than usual.

Cas spit out the belt. "One on my right side that punctured my lung," he gasped out. "A-And my left ear. I can't hear anything out of it."

"Uh, have any suggestions on what to do about those?" Sam swallowed hard. Dean hoped he wasn't going to be sick. 

"Leave the one in my ear and stitch up the other two, I suppose," Cas replied rather clinically. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Dean, could you do that?"

"Yeah," he said grudgingly. His hands weren't shaking anymore but Sam's had started to. It would be illogical to make him do it. He bent and gave Cas another kiss on the forehead, then reluctantly let go of his hand. He went over to the table with the supplies and Sam took his place. Cas took ahold of his forearm. 

Dean almost couldn't do it. The thought of hurting Cas even more put an ache in his chest, and he had to remind himself that it was to help him.

He was grateful Cas didn't all out scream through the process. Sure, he groaned and tensed and whimpered, but he didn't scream. Dean could tell how hard he was working to hold it in. He was doing it for him. 

Dean let himself relax once the stitching was done. He wiped some beads of sweat off of his forehead. He was shaking again from a mix of nerves, fatigue, and relief.  
He took care of bandaging up what he could too. He found himself not caring that bandaging his thighs brought him very close to Cas' more intimate parts. Why the hell should it matter at a time like this? Finally, he was wrapped up to the best of Dean's ability. The time doing that had passed in relative silence.

"Phew!" Dean breathed, wiping his hands together though it was useless with the mix of dried and fresh blood on them. "Okay, done! You need anything, Cas?"

The angel's eyes were only half open. He looked downright exhausted. "Sleep," he answered. "I think I now understand what you mean when you say you could sleep for a week."

Dean chuckled a little. "How about my bed? Best mattress around."

Cas squinted at him. "But where will you sleep?"

"There are other rooms. I'll manage." Dean decided to keep it to himself that he most likely wasn't going to sleep.

Sam stifled a yawn with his hand. "Need help getting him there or can I go shower?"

"I've got 'im. You're free," Dean answered. If he had gotten Cas down the stairs, then he could definitely get him to his bedroom just fine.

"Sweet. Cas, take it easy, man. I'll check up on you at some point." With that, Sam left the room.

Dean helped Cas sit up with a hand under his lower back, and the angel wrapped an arm around his shoulders before sliding off of the table. They hobbled awkwardly to Dean's room, not speaking. There was really nothing to say.

Dean had Cas sit on the edge of the bed while he pulled back the blankets. 

"Okay, so how do you wanna do this? I take it you're not much of a back sleeper."

"It will be better than sleeping on my front," Cas said drily. Dean had to agree with him. That's where most of the damage was. He shifted himself down the bed without standing, then maneuvered himself around and laid back, positioning his wings on either side of the bed. He heaved a sigh once he was finally in a good spot on the mattress. It must have been incredibly comfortable compared to everything else.

Dean carefully pulled the blankets over them, watching Cas to make sure he wasn't hurting him. He only winced a little, but made no other sign of discomfort.

"There you go, buddy." Dean looked him over, noticed how the broken part of his wing was laying on the floor. "Want me to get you a pillow for that?" He questioned, pointing.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, hold on. There are some extra ones in the laundry room." 

Dean didn't like leaving Cas alone, even if it was just to fetch a pillow. It was irrational, seeing as he was in bed and nothing would happen to him, but that didn't make his worry go away. His emotions were just a mess. 

Cas was still awake when he returned, lying there with his eyes open. He watched Dean as he knelt down and very carefully slid the pillow under his wing. He made absolutely sure not to touch it with his hands.

"Okay, how's that?" He straightened up.

"Much better. Thank you, Dean." His voice was hoarse and tired, and though he looked close to passing out, his eyes were still open, still on him.

He shifted a little, feeling uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"How are _you_ doing, Dean?" 

"That's a stupid question, Cas," he said with a dismissive wave. He went over to his dresser and pulled out some clothes. "Just go to sleep."

"No really. How _are_ you?" He kept up stubbornly.

"Dude, don't worry about me. You're more important right now." Dean didn't want to answer honestly, didn't want to break in front of him. He didn't need that.

"Alright," Cas agreed with a little frown.

"Awesome. Now try to get some rest."

Dean waited for Cas' nod, then turned off the light and left. He scrubbed a bloody hand through his hair. He needed a shower. And a beer. Hell, he needed a whole case. With a big sigh, he headed for the kitchen.

 

Dean placed his now empty beer bottle beside the sink before stepping into the shower. That was the last one in the case. Six beers and he still wasn't okay. Cas' screams kept echoing in his head, the sight of him burned into his closed eyelids. He made himself open them, watched the blood run off of him and down the drain in pink rivulets. Neither image was better than the other.

He felt a very real pain in his chest. It was strange how emotions could do that, could make the body tire and ache. That pain climbed up through his chest and into his throat, found its way into his mouth and then past his lips in a sob. He braced one arm against the shower wall, squeezed his eyes shut. Tears mixed with the hot water raining down on him.

He cried loudly, unashamedly, as Castiel's blood washed off of him. A quiet, almost muted part of him tried saying that crying over this was ridiculous, that there was no point since Cas was still alive. But he was in _agony._ Seeing anyone he cared about like that hurt him like nothing else could. Seeing those he loved in pain was the absolute worst that could be done to him, and dammit he _did_ love Cas. Of course it took something like this for him to finally admit it to himself, to let himself feel it. 

God, Dean felt so _stupid._ He bowed his head under the stream of water as sobs racked his body. Why did it have to take frigging crap like this for him to finally accept what he felt? Why couldn't he have just done that years ago without all this?

 _'Cause you're a coward and a moron,_ he berated himself, self-loathing curdling in his stomach. _Dumbass who's scared of having feelings._

Dean felt horrible. He was drunk and crying in the shower. It was ridiculous, pathetic. He had to pull himself together.

With a shaking hand he reached for the shampoo bottle. Might as well start by properly cleaning himself off.

His movements were slow and the occasional sob still broke through the emotional dam he was building, but eventually he was clean. There was no thought in his movements as he turned off the water, got out and dried himself, and then dressed. It was all robotic, like some part of him had shut down after all that. All he knew was that he needed to go back to his room to sit and watch over Cas.

Nothing had changed since he'd left. The angel was sleeping, but it seemed far from peaceful. His brows were furrowed and his teeth were clenched. Apparently he couldn't even escape it in sleep.

_That's not fair._

Dean carefully settled himself on the end of the bed, making sure not to sit on his feet. He didn't know what watching over him would accomplish, but it made him feel better to be in the same room with him.

Cas didn't sleep restfully in the next few hours. He'd grunt and whimper, fist his hands, toss his head. At times where it grew worse Dean would lean over and stroke his hair and face, and some part of Castiel's conscious seemed to acknowledge that and he would relax a little.

Dean was tired, but he didn’t sleep, not fully. Every once in a while he’d be startled out of a hunched-over doze by the onset of dreams, and not good ones either. 

He didn’t know how many hours he spent like that, sometimes awake, sometimes on the edge of sleep, but worry for Cas highlighted it all. Every once in a while he’d stop and stroke his face to calm him, or hold one of his hands for a bit. He didn’t wake once.

Dean was startled by a quiet knock on the door, and he twisted his body to look, answered: “Come in.”

Sam softly opened the door and stepped into the room. He cocked his head a little in confusion.

“Dean, how long have you been here?”

“I don’t know man.” He rubbed a hand over his face, closing his sore eyes for a moment. “Came back here right after I showered.” He lowered his hand and glanced at Cas. “He hasn’t woken once.”

“Dean, you need to go to sleep.”

He waved a hand. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’ve been up for over twenty four hours and you’re drunk.”

“What says I’m drunk?” Dean looked back at him. “I’m not slurring or anything.”

“Uh, the empty beer bottles you left everywhere,” Sam stated, coming up to him and crossing his arms. “I found them when I went to go clean up from… earlier.”

Dean swallowed hard, looked down at his feet. “Thanks,” he croaked out. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to do that.

“Yeah, well, you’ll be thanking me more if you get into bed.” Sam slipped an arm under Dean’s and pulled him to his feet. He didn’t fight his brother, and his knees shook a little once he was standing. “See? You can’t even stand right.” Sam made sure he was steady enough to stand on his own, then patted him good naturedly on the back. “Go find a free bed and pass out for a few hours.”

Dean gave a small nod, finding it a little hard to talk all of a sudden. Before he left the room, he looked back at Cas, with his head tilted to the side, one hand over the blankets, and his wings spread. The wings didn’t look right with the missing flight feathers and the bloodstains. Cas didn’t look like Cas.

Dean left the room.

 

Castiel didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to stay in unconsciousness where the pain was at least numbed a little. So, he kept his eyes closed and didn’t move, hoping that maybe he would fall back to sleep.

He was awake enough to sense another presence in the room. With his body at full capacity he would have been able to tell who it was without looking, but now he couldn’t. It frustrated him a little, but he still didn’t move.

Five minutes passed before he finally gave up. He heaved a sigh – the movement increasing the burning in his lungs that was caused by every breath – and turned his head, opening his eyes. Sam was sitting in a chair beside the bed that hadn’t been there before, reading. He’d probably brought it in from the library.

“Hello, Sam.” His voice almost didn’t come out, the sound scraping in his raw throat.

Sam looked up as he spoke, seeming a little startled that he was awake. He folded the corner of the page to mark his place and closed the book, gave a small smile. “Hey, Cas. How ya doing?”

Castiel just gave him a look that asked if he was kidding. In this state? How did he _think_ he was doing? Then again, he shouldn’t be frustrated by it. He was asking because he cared.

He turned his head straight, not looking at him. “Everything hurts and I wish I could dismiss my wings.” He almost couldn’t get the words out. He mourned the state his wings were in, almost more than the pain center of his brain did. The break and the missing feathers hurt more than any torture he’d ever been given. It was because his wings were a physical representation of his grace, and his grace had been abused. He wanted to hide them, put them back in their rightful plane so that no one could see them and they would heal faster.

“Humans aren’t ever supposed to see them, are they?”

Cas hardly heard that, as he had his head turned away and Sam was sitting on his left side. His inner ear was still demolished. 

“No. Never.”

“I’m… sorry, Cas.”

“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Cas said, turning his head to look at him again. It would be easier to have a conversation if he wasn’t straining to hear. “It’s just…” He paused, trying to think of a way to explain how he was feeling. “Imagine if someone walked in on you naked. What that man did, it was like ripping your clothes off without consent. And then he…” He paused to breathe, tears stinging in his eyes, but he had to get this out. “Then he _touched_ them, Sam. H-He was stroking them like he had the right to. And I didn’t want him to! I begged for him to stop, but he wouldn’t.” Sam was blurred in his vision now, and he felt no shame in letting his tears fall free. “Then he hurt me. He ruined them! Tortured my grace! He-he-” Castiel was cut off by a rather loud sob that burst from his lips. It made it feel like his lung was being pierced all over again, but still, he sobbed again, closed his eyes. He’d never felt so awful in his life.

There was a gentle hand on his arm.

“Cas, hey, you’re hurting yourself. Take a breath.” Sam’s voice was soft and caring.

Cas inhaled deeply through his nose, clamped his mouth over another sob and choked on it. Then he exhaled, took another breath in, trying to calm himself. No one was going to hurt him here.

“I understand, Cas,” Sam said after a few moments in silence, his hand still on his arm. The touch, though small, helped him anchor himself away from the emotions. “Believe me, I really do. You feel vulnerable and exposed and you wonder if there was some way you could have prevented it or you could have tried harder to stop it. You’re hurt and violated and shamed. I know because that’s exactly how Lucifer made me feel, how I still feel sometimes if I ever think of him.” Cas blinked open his eyes to gaze at Sam, taking in every word he was saying. “It gets better. You’ll heal physically and emotionally. It certainly won’t happen quickly, but it’ll happen. And if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here. I get it. I went through that, but I didn’t have anyone to talk to. But you don’t have to go through it on your own.”

Cas almost teared up again from the gratitude that swelled warmly in his chest. His lips pulled into a smile. “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I’ll take you up on that offer if I need to talk.”

Sam smiled back, patted his arm. His hazel eyes were warm and caring. “Of course, Cas.” He straightened in his chair; he’d been bent to reach him. “Now, anything you need? I’m not so sure how that sigil affected you so I don’t know if you have to eat or anything.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not hungry,” Cas responded. 

“Sounds like you could use some honey or something though,” he commented.

“What?” That seemed like a strange thing to offer.

“For your throat,” Sam explained. “It must hurt to talk.”

“Oh, I see.”

Sam stood and placed his book on the chair. “I’m gonna make you some lemon tea with honey, okay?” He very carefully skirted around Cas’ outstretched wing to reach the door. He helped by pulling it in a little. 

Cas nodded his head, feeling grateful and comforted that he had people to take care of him. He loved Sam and Dean for that, for being his friends and being there for him, even when there were times that he thought he didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you, Sam.”

 

Some hours later, Dean came to see him. Sam had left about an hour ago to give him some time alone after giving him the tea and changing his bandages. That had been painful and strenuous, but it was done, and now he was resting again.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him. His voice was rough. He wasn’t looking so well. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and his hair and clothes were mussed.

“You’re hungover,” Cas stated. It wasn’t a question. He always knew when Dean had been drinking.

“Yup.” 

Cas folded in his left wing as Dean came over and sat in the chair. His movements were slow. Once he was sitting, he winced and put a hand to his head.

“I don’t usually get this bad of a headache though.”

“Stress can do that.” His voice was sounding a little better due to the tea that Sam had provided. He was going to need more of that.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said grumpily.

“What are you doing here if you don’t feel well?” Cas questioned.

“Wanted to check in on you.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

Dean snorted at that. “Yeah I did. ’Cause I care about you, ya know? Seeing you like this is driving me crazy.”

“Which would be the reason for the drinking,” Castiel surmised.

“Uh huh. High functioning alcoholic at your service.” Dean smiled as if he had made a joke, but Cas didn’t find it very funny. He decided not to say anything about it though, because Dean was already in a bad state. Talking about it would make it worse.

When Cas didn’t say anything, Dean cleared his throat. “So, um, are you healing at all?”

“I seem to only be healing at the rate of a human,” Cas answered dismally. This was going to take a _long_ time. He wasn’t used to that. Only a few hours laid up like this and he was already growing frustrated and annoyed. Over the course of that time he’d tried to dismiss his wings on multiple occasions, but all that ever did was cause the sigil in his back to burn like he was being branded. This whole thing would be better if they were out of sight. He was uncomfortable with Dean and Sam seeing them, and with the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t exactly tell them not to look either. They took up so much space he might as well tell them to keep their backs turned to him if he didn’t want them to look.

Dean was quiet for a moment; he looked down at the floor. “That sucks, man,” he finally said after some time pondering that in silence.

That was by far the biggest understatement Cas had ever heard in his life, but there was really no other way to sum up the situation. It really did suck.

“So, um…” Dean scratched at the back of his head, returned his gaze to him. “You need to talk about it? Who was this guy anyway? I don’t really want to press for information, but if it’s important…” 

“He worked with the British Men of Letters,” Cas answered. Anger burned in his blood as he prepared to say his name. “He didn’t give a first name, just called himself Mr. Ketch.”

“What the hell with these guys?!” Dean exclaimed. “Are they going to leave us alone or not? What do they even want?”

“He said he’d been ordered to bring all three of us in. He didn’t say why. He talked a lot but none of it was useful.” Cas felt uncomfortable talking about him. His mind was trying to wander back to his time in the warehouse alone with him. His feathers fluffed out a little as if he was being threatened.

Dean seemed to notice. He glanced at his left wing, but then quickly looked away, face going a little red. “Sam killed him, just so you know. I didn’t really get the chance to tell you earlier. Son of a bitch is dead. I mean, a bullet to the head is too merciful for him, but at least he’s gone.”

Cas felt relief wash through him, but at the same time he wasn’t satisfied. Dean was right about a bullet being too good for him. Cas wanted to _hurt_ him. Dean apparently did too.

They were quiet for some time. There was some tension in the silence, and Cas’ feathers prickled. He was realizing that his wings were quite expressive. He wasn’t used to having them manifest physically like this. It was very different when they weren’t there or he was in his true form rather than a vessel.

“What is it, Dean?” He hadn’t looked at him in some time, had his head down and his eyes closed.

“I feel bad, Cas.”

“Well that’s hardly an explanation.”

“I don’t want to see them. I’m not supposed to. You don’t want me to.” 

“Dean, I…” Cas didn’t continue. There were so many things he wanted to say, things he wanted to express but didn’t know how. He gave himself time to think before speaking again. “I was actually going to show them to you. Once they were done healing from the Fall.”

Dean’s eyes shot open at that and he lifted his head. “What? Seriously? Why?” He looked stunned and bewildered.

“Because I wanted to,” Cas said. “As a sign of… trust.” If he were human his face would have heated. “It’s quite an intimate gesture.”

Dean cocked his head ever so slightly, eyes rather big. Since his body had the ability to blush, it was doing so. “You, um…” He cleared his throat, licked his lips. He shifted in the chair and rubbed his hands together. “That’s big.”

“Yes it is.” That was all Cas said. He wanted to give Dean time to sort through what he was feeling. He loved this man, and he was sure that Dean felt the same, but he was oftentimes uncomfortable with himself and his feelings. And it was finally out in the open. He hoped he would build up his courage and grab onto it.

Dean looked at the ceiling when he next spoke, neck and face flushed with heat. “You know, I’m only used to telling girls that I’m attracted to them. I’ve never even...” He paused, took a deep breath. “Never told anyone that I like guys too.” Cas didn’t say anything, was content to let Dean take his time. This was a hard thing for him to do. Pride for him surged up in his chest and lighted a smile on his face. 

“Especially never told a guy that.” He lowered his head and looked back at Cas, sucked in another breath. “And I like you. In that way. Like, if our lives were normal I would take you out to dinner and to see movies and hold hands with you. All that gushy, romantic crap. I _really_ like you. Hell, I even love you, Cas. Can’t believe it took me this freaking long to realize it though, and that you had to be in this state for me to.” Dean’s words were quick, nearly panicked, and he was gasping a little when he was done.

“I believe humans call that dating,” Cas said with a smile. He’d never said anything to Dean because he’d wanted him to be comfortable, wanted him to reach out and take that final step when he was ready. The last thing he wanted to do was push him, but here Dean was. He’d done it.

“Yeah, yeah, we do.” Dean had his hands clasped together, was looking away again. He’d pursed his lips in thought. “You know, I could probably still take you out on dates and stuff. We get breaks from time to time.”

“I would like that, Dean. I would like that a lot.”

Dean’s shoulders finally relaxed. He was smiling when he looked back at him. “Awesome. That’s awesome. Wanna see a movie when you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, I most certainly would.”

 

Days passed. Not once did Castiel move from Dean’s bed. He tried, but his body was very adamant about not moving. He was at least thankful that the mattress was cozy and that he didn’t have the same needs as humans. 

The first and last thing he did each day was try to dismiss his wings, but the sigil would just scream in pain and hold him back. Usually he wouldn’t make a sound, but tears would come to his eyes.

His external lacerations were at least showing some improvement, and his lung was beginning to hurt less, but other than that he mostly stayed the same. He still couldn’t hear out of his left ear and his right wing was looking worse and worse, the area around the break becoming terribly swollen and the feathers going dull and falling out. That was probably due to the fact that he wouldn’t let anyone near it. Currently, he was in an argument with Dean about it. Sam had been part of it too until he recently threw up his hands and left in frustration.

“Cas, we can’t just leave it like that!”

“It’s fine,” he insisted lowly. The last thing he wanted was somebody touching it. He was very slowly getting used to the Winchesters seeing his wings on a daily basis, but touching was a whole other matter. 

“Come on, man!” Dean gestured to it. “That looks fine to you? You must be feeling terrible! Can I get ice for it at least?” He looked desperate.

Cas looked him sternly in the eye. 

“No.”

He was trying to keep his calm. He didn’t want to go into a panic over this, and that kind of reaction wasn’t too farfetched. He just _couldn’t_ let anyone touch his wings. He couldn’t.

With a heavy sigh, Dean sat down on the end of the bed, looked away from Cas and at the wall.

“Cas, I’m trying to help you.”

“I know, Dean.” He shifted a little in the bed.

“Then why won’t you let me?” He sounded rather defeated.

Cas closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. 

“It’s… I don’t want…” He couldn’t voice the turmoil that he was feeling. He was brought back to the moment of Mr. Ketch forcibly summoning his wings, the way he’d _touched_ them. His stomach clenched. This whole thing wasn’t _right._

Dean looked to him and gently touched his hand. There must have been some sort of change in his eyes, because then he said: “It’s okay, Cas. You’re not there anymore. You’re with me.”

“I-I know.” He sucked in a stinging breath. Dean gently prompted for him to flip his hand over, then began drawing soothing circles over his palm. Cas took another deep breath. “I just feel wrong. Violated. And what’s worse is there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel _naked._ ”

“Um, Cas, you _are_ naked.” There was a joking tone in Dean’s voice and he chuckled a little, which definitely lightened the mood. Cas smiled a bit.

“Oh, you know what I meant. I don’t give a damn about nudity.”

They fell into silence, a silence in which Dean’s face steadily turned redder and redder. He let go of his hand, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“But seriously, back to the wing. It has to be bandaged or splinted or something.” 

Cas dismally turned his head to look at the wing in question. The broken part lay swollen and obvious on a pillow on the floor. His throat nearly closed up and blocked his next words.

“Alright. We have to wrap it.”

 

Cas managed to get into the library with Dean’s assistance, after he helped him pull on a pair of loose pajama bottoms so that he could at least adhere to the human sense of decency. He would have much rather preferred to stay in the bed, but there would be no room for the procedure. He had asked Sam to do it. He was the most knowledgeable about all this and Dean was the best to provide comfort for him.

Now he was standing braced against a table, his back to Sam. The younger Winchester had a large roll of bandages in one hand, and he was intently studying his laptop. He’d had to look up how to take care of a bird’s wing, because it was generally the same thing but on a larger scale.

“First step: Cas, I need you to fold it,” Sam told him. His voice sounded different, as if he’d emotionally detached himself from the situation. It would help him work better.

Cas gritted his teeth as he attempted movement, and Dean shot out a hand and placed it over his. 

“I-I can’t.” He nearly cried out it hurt so bad. He met Dean’s gaze. “Could you…?” 

“Yeah.” Dean circled around him and Cas craned his head over his shoulder to keep an eye on him. He very gingerly touched his wing under the break with one hand, the other near the joint. Cas ground his teeth together as he made his wing fold in against his back. An undignified whimpering sound rose from his throat.

That done, Dean came back around the table to his front to be out of Sam’s way. His hands came to either side of Cas’ face, making him look at him. 

“So, about our date, I was thinking,” Dean began, obviously making conversation to distract him, “there’s this new Star Wars movie coming out soon, but I realized you haven’t seen all the other movies yet. We should watch them together.”

Cas flinched as he felt Sam’s hands on his back and his wing and the texture of the bandage against his feathers, but focused on Dean, nodded his head.

“That’s a good idea, Dean. I like movies.”

The older Winchester had a smile on his face that looked quite forced. “Yeah, I know you do. And I also realized you haven’t seen the Lord of the Rings either.”

Cas yelped as Sam wound the bandage under his wing and then back around, tightly shut his eyes. Dean was stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Wha-what’s that about?”

“It’s about this evil ring and these awesome creatures called hobbits that-”

Dean’s words were drowned out as the bandage was wrapped around at a different angle and pulled, easily coaxing a loud bellow out of Cas. He arched his back, flapped his left wing in panic and protest, twisted his head out of Dean’s hold. His entire existence erupted into agony. He couldn’t feel anything but that and the way his screams raked against his already damaged throat. He was on the verge of passing out from it.

He didn’t know how long it was, but soon the pain began to lessen back to its usual, excruciating madness, and the white noise in his head was quieting. He was beginning to feel other things again. The floor, somehow still miraculously under his two feet, his hands pressed hard into the table, Dean holding onto his wrists. The holes in his abdomen were burning and he was gasping, shaking; he would have been sweating if he could. 

Finally he opened his eyes, and was startled when he was met with almost total darkness. Once his vision quickly adjusted, he could see the shocked expression on Dean’s face. Apparently in his throes he had managed to use what little he had left of his power and blown the lights out.

_Oh, I hope it was only in this room._

“Sam, please tell me you got it,” Dean finally said. His grip loosened on Cas’ wrists.

“Yeah, yeah I did. There’s one more thing I have to do though.”

“And what would that be?” Cas asked tiredly. He felt drained of almost everything he had. His knees shook.

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” Sam assured him. “I just have to do another wrap to secure it to your body so that you don’t move it accidentally. Are you able to stand up straight?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Castiel grunted, pushing his weight off of the table. He wavered and almost fell, Dean rushing around and steadying him with a grip on his arm. After a few moments of just standing there to make sure he wouldn’t fall over, he nodded. “Alright. Do it, Sam.”

The next part was definitely the least painful thing he’d experienced all day. Sam was gentle and careful as he wrapped a bandage around his wing and abdomen by the light of his laptop screen. It was tight enough to secure his wing to his back, but not tight enough to cause any more pain. He nearly fainted when it was done, legs just about done with holding himself up, every other part of him just completely finished after what had happened. He found himself slumping into Dean’s arms.

“Good job, Cas,” Dean spoke in his ear. “Really proud of you. Now let’s get you back to bed and put some ice on this, huh? Then I’ll go out and get ice cream, give you all you can eat. How about that?”

Cas just limply nodded against his shoulder, not fully understanding his words. The trip back to Dean’s room was a blur and he wasn’t even completely sure how he got there. Next thing he knew, he found himself in the bed on his stomach, Dean carefully pulling the blankets over him. He felt lips on his forehead, a hand caressing his hair, and then there was nothing.

 

Sam was in the kitchen when Dean returned from getting ice for Cas’ wing. He’d set a timer for it on his phone and was determined to down at least two beers before it went off. He’d get the promised ice cream later. Cas would be out for a while.

Dean didn’t notice Sam silently smirking at him until he sat down across from him at the table, beer in hand.

“What?” he asked defensively, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. Ah, that was much better.

“Date, huh?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows.

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration. “Come on, Sammy, not now. I’m not in the mood. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Sam leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Took you long enough, dumbass.”

Dean was dumbfounded by the response. He set his beer down on the table with a clink.

“What?”

“You’ve been into him for like what? Eight years? Seriously, you should have said something so much earlier.” Sam smiled at him. “Glad you finally did it.”

“You _knew?_ ” Dean was utterly shocked. He had thought that he had kept his attraction to Cas inconspicuous, but that apparently wasn’t the case.

 _Dammit, that’s embarrassing._

“Dude, I’m pretty sure everybody knew,” Sam replied with a laugh. “Probably even before you did.”

Dean grunted, took another swallow of beer. He was feeling rather uncomfortable now. His brother had known the whole time that he had a thing for Cas? That he was something other than straight? 

“Yeah, whatever. We’re dating. Sort of. So what?” Dean asked in a tone that he hoped would shut up his younger brother. He wasn’t in the mood for talking.

“I’m just proud of you is all,” Sam answered. “That you’re finally coming to terms with yourself and your sexuality.”

“Mm… yeah.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, then took a very long drink from his bottle, nearly emptying it. “Sam, do me a favor and shove that smug smile of yours up your ass for me.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, fine. I won’t talk about it.” He leaned back in his chair. 

“Thank you,” Dean actually said. He finished off his bottle, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked on the timer. He could definitely get another beer in him before it went off. He stood to get one.

“Dean, how are you doing with all this?”

He paused in opening the fridge door, didn’t quite know how to respond to that question. Then he decided on the simplest way possible.

“Awful.” Once he grabbed his beer he closed the door a little too hard, came and sat back down rather heavily. “What’d you expect?” He uncapped it and drank.

“Nothing less. Was just wondering if I might get a more detailed answer than that.”

“It sucks, Sam!” He slammed the bottle back down on the counter, surprised at his own outburst. He hadn’t noticed the frustration and irritation building inside of him. 

“It all sucks and we both know that, so quit asking!”

Sam pursed his lips at the words, looking away dejectedly. “Yeah, yeah it does.” After a moment he seemed to recover himself and stood up. “Whatever. I’m gonna go see if we have any light bulbs lying around. You might have to pick some up along with the ice cream.”

Dean didn’t think that warranted a response, so he just took another swig from his bottle. After a moment of waiting to see if he would talk, Sam left the room, and Dean was alone with his thoughts. Which was never a good thing. Especially now when his mind had figured it was a good idea to play Castiel screaming and thrashing on loop. 

_I’m gonna need another beer,_ he decided. 

 

Castiel woke slowly and reluctantly, but finally blinked open his eyes to total darkness. He groaned. Saying he was uncomfortable wouldn’t do his state justice. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

His right wing was trapped and aching against his back and side. He wanted to move it, to stretch it, but he couldn’t. Besides, it would only make it hurt more. 

And the front part of his body was protesting madly about him laying on it, but he hadn’t had a choice. He’d rather lay on those wounds than on his wing.

He groaned loudly and buried his head into the pillow. He couldn’t stand the pain any longer, but the seconds passed and it just kept throbbing through him and tormenting him. He felt hopeless and horrible, wished there was something he could do to make it stop.

“ _Dean…_ ” he moaned out. Pleaded, really. The Winchesters were his only source of comfort, especially Dean. Where was he? He needed him.

“Dean.” He said it louder this time, lifted his head, but then deduced that he still wouldn’t be able to hear him, wherever he was. He really didn’t want to shout though.

With a defeated grunt he pressed his face back into the pillow. He didn’t know what to do.

He was definitely surprised when the door opened a few moments later, spilling light in from the hallway. Cas twisted his head a little.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I was coming to check on ya. Thought you might be waking up. Okay if I turn on the light?”

Cas nodded a little, knew the light from the hall would be enough to see him by, and put his head back down. He closed his eyes again.

Dean flicked on the light and came over to the side of the bed that his uninjured wing was on. He’d kept it folded against his back in sleep and was fine keeping it there. Dean had space to sit next to him on the mattress. 

“You want that ice cream now?” he questioned. 

“No.” What Cas really wanted was to go back to sleep, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen at the moment. He turned his head facing away from Dean so that it was his left ear pressed against the pillow and not his right. He’d be able to hear him much better.

“Okay, but just say the word and it’s all yours.” 

There were fingers stroking against his neck, warm and gentle. Cas smiled a little at the touch. Physical contact was a nice comfort.

“Anything I can do for you?” Dean asked as he kept stroking. “There a such thing as an angel pain killer?”

“You’ve asked me that almost a dozen times.”

“I know.” The man breathed a sigh. “I just hate not being able to do anything for you.”

“But Dean, you are doing things for me. You’re helping me more than you know. For instance, this is nice.” He shifted into his hand.

Silence, but not for long before Dean spoke again.

“Hey, Cas? Can I sit behind you and take the blankets off? You don’t have to move or anything, but I just got an idea.”

There was a small spark of anxiety in his stomach from how vulnerable his wings would be to him like that, but he shoved it down. He knew Dean wouldn’t touch them. 

“Go ahead, Dean.”

He heard him kicking off his shoes and then there was a weight near his feet, and hands gently pulling the blankets off of him, down to his ankles. Cas was nervous and curious all at once.

Dean’s hands landed on his left calf, fingers beginning to roll and press into his skin. Cas’ smile widened a little.

“That feels good, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm.” 

Dean continued the massage in silence, going almost all the way up his left leg before switching to the right and starting the process over. He was beginning to feel much more relaxed, and it was like his body sunk into the mattress a little more. He breathed a contented sigh.

Cas was nearly asleep by the time Dean finished with the first leg, was startled out of his sleepy haze by the feel of the man crouching over him. Before he could speak and inquire about what he was doing, there were lips pressed to the back of his neck. The touch sent a pleasant tingle down his spine, and he shifted his left wing a little.

“So, Cas, I, um… I have another idea.” Dean sounded nervous.

“And what would that be?” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Well, are you able to sit up? With your legs over the side?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Castiel was very curious to what Dean had in mind to help make him feel better. Why did he seem so anxious about it, whatever it was?

Dean very carefully moved off of him and stood beside the bed. Cas pushed himself up, Dean’s arms coming around him to help him sit on the edge.

“What do you have in mind, Dean?” He looked at him, found that his face was positively red.

“Um, well, uh…” He looked down at the floor, rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh, endorphins make a really good painkiller.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Castiel waited for him to continue, wanted to know what he was thinking.

“And uh, there’s a way to produce a lot of endorphins. I was thinking I could um, do that.”

Cas tilted his head a little, squinted at him in confusion. He was being very vague.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re thinking of, but if you think it will help, please give it a try.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

And then Dean was suddenly getting down on his knees in front of him, and his hands were caressing his thighs very carefully. Cas still didn’t understand what he was up to.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

He looked up at him, pupils dilated, breathing a little uneven. The redness seemed to be fading from his cheeks though.

“Something good for you, Cas. Do you trust me?”

He nodded without hesitation. Of course he trusted Dean. He trusted him like no one else in the world. 

His breath hitched when Dean’s hands ran up the inside of his thighs and to his groin. He palmed him through the pajama bottoms, and Cas gritted his teeth as his body began to react in kind to the contact. He’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be touched there.

He found himself moaning out Dean’s name as a form of pleading. He wanted his skin on his, didn’t want anything between them.

“Hold on. I think I’m kind of doing this backwards. I should probably kiss you first.”

“Then get up here and kiss me,” Cas demanded. That was something he’d wanted from Dean for a long time.

Dean moved back up onto the bed, but didn’t withdraw his hand. His face was so close Cas could feel his breath. Their gazes met for a brief second, as if asking the other if they were sure about this, but when they found mutual longing and understanding, they moved into the kiss together, mouths finally meeting. It was careful and gentle at first, and Cas was astounded by the feel of Dean’s lips. He’d kissed before, but this was different. It just felt… right.

He deepened the kiss as Dean slipped his hand under the waistband of his pants, took ahold of his semi-erect member. His hand felt perfect around him and he moaned into his mouth. He reached up a hand to grab at the back of his neck.

Dean’s tongue darted into his mouth and Cas was happy to accept it. He let Dean roam around for a bit before shoving his tongue away with his own and instead entering his mouth. Their lips were moving and molding together passionately, hungrily. Cas didn’t want it to end.

But it did as Dean exposed his cock to the open air and began stroking it, causing him to pull away and gasp. His nerves tingled at the touch; he was growing more aroused by the second. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, studying this part of him, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t in him to be self-conscious.

“Damn, Cas, you’re…” Dean seemed at a loss for words. “Big,” he finally surmised. 

“Is that a good thing?” he questioned breathlessly. Oh, what he was doing with his hand felt so good. The pain in his body was fading to the edge of his senses, making room for this. This idea of Dean’s was definitely a good one.

“You bet it is,” Dean replied huskily. 

Cas grew confused when he slid off the bed and knelt in front of him. He opened his eyes to look at him, raised an eyebrow. He kept his hand on the back of his neck. “Dean, what are you-”

“Something awesome. Believe me.” And then, no longer making eye contact with him, Dean moved his head forward and licked at the underside of his shaft. 

Cas yelped in surprise at the action and the pleasure of it, and Dean licked him again. Cas migrated his hand into his hair, clutched hard. He wasn’t quite sure what this was that Dean was doing, but it was amazing. He’d never felt anything like it. 

Then Dean took the head into his mouth and sucked on it, slowly and languidly. He had his eyes closed as if he too was enjoying this. Cas breathed a moan.

“D-Dean, humans d-do this?” It was definitely a strange way to show affection. 

Dean bobbed his head in a gentle nod, made an affirmative sound in his throat, and that in itself felt good. Cas groaned through his teeth and tilted his head back for a moment, but then he went back to studying Dean and this strange, sensual ritual. Some primal part of him liked the way that he looked with his cock in his mouth, even as another part was looking out of pure curiosity.

Castiel moaned and gripped the blankets with his other hand as Dean took almost his entire length into his mouth, somehow without choking. 

“Dean, h-how are you doing that?” 

Dean pulled his mouth off of him, stroking him with his hand in the absence of it. Cas was hissing out breaths through his teeth.

“I’ve, um, had experience.” He roamed his lips over the tip before speaking again. “Not the first time I’ve sucked someone off.” He licked away a bead of precum and Cas grunted, still watching him intently. “When money was really bad I, uh, sold myself.”

Dean didn’t have to elaborate. Cas knew what he meant.

“That’s horrible.”

“Not if it got me money and taught me how to make you feel good,” Dean rebutted. 

Cas was going to say something, but lost his words as his cock was in Dean’s mouth again. The man took him in all the way up to where his hand was holding the base.

“ _Dean…_ ” Cas moaned out, astonished and pleased at the same time. Dean moaned back at him, the vibrations of his voice dancing along his length. Cas arched a little, left wing extending slightly, feathers fluffing out.

Then Dean was bobbing his head over his length, sometimes stopping to suck or twirl his tongue. Cas couldn’t take it anymore, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, moaning with each breath. It felt like he was burning, but in the most spectacular way possible. He’d experienced stimulation here before, but nothing like this. 

It only took a few minutes before he was close to reaching his climax. He was whimpering now, holding onto anything he could. A lovely pressure was building at the base of his spine and shooting throughout his body, curling his toes and tightening his muscles. Then there were a few moments of blinding, raging pleasure, light behind his eyelids, muscles contracting, his manhood twitching in Dean’s mouth as his load was released. He gave a cry and stretched out his left wing, feathers the puffiest they’d ever been. There were some sucking, swallowing motions from Dean, and then it was done. He pulled away from him, gasping.

It took some time for Cas to come back to himself, but finally he was able to relax his position and look at him. Those green eyes he loved so much were incredibly bright.

“How was that, Cas?”

“Phenomenal,” he answered instantly. He closed his eyes again and breathed slowly. “Thank you, Dean.” He curled his left wing back in towards his body, but the feathers were still practically standing up. They were soft against his skin. 

Dean’s weight was next to him on the bed, his hands gently tucking Cas back into his pants.

“Your wings got so _fluffy_ ,” Dean commented, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Did you do that on purpose or does it just happen?”

“It’s an involuntary reaction to happiness,” Cas explained to him. He was pleasantly tingling all over, the pain almost completely chased away. This idea of Dean’s had worked brilliantly. “I can’t control it.”

“Whoa.”

There was some silence between them, and Cas felt Dean’s eyes on his face. He opened them to find that he was asking him a silent question. Before this new, intimate experience they had shared, he had felt skeptical and nervous about what Dean wanted, but now he was just calm, comfortable. He gave a small nod.

“A-Are you sure, Cas?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

And then Dean’s hands were buried in his golden feathers, touching gently and reverently. He shivered a little at the new sensation, expected himself to panic at that first touch, but he still felt serene. Of course Dean could touch his wings. He trusted him. He loved him. There was no intent to hurt him in it, just wonder and curiosity.

“Cas, oh my god, it’s so soft.”

He smiled at the comment, deciding to stretch out the wing and wrap it around Dean’s body. The man froze and looked at him, mouth slightly agape. His eyes were huge and childlike, and Cas found that it was a beautiful look on him.

“Cas, you’re an angel,” he simply stated. 

Cas laughed at that, something he hadn’t done in quite a long time. It didn’t matter that it hurt to laugh, because at the same time it felt good. 

“Yes, Dean, I am.”

“And you love me.” 

Cas hadn’t said it yet, but it was obvious by his most recent gesture. It wasn’t a question but he answered anyway, just to give Dean reassurance.

“Yes, I love you, Dean. Very much.” As a show of this, he wrapped his wing tighter around him, completely covering him in it, and pulled him closer.

The smile the human gave him was the biggest he’d ever seen on his face. It was stunning.

“Awesome. That’s totally awesome, because guess what? I love you too, Castiel.”

 

The terrible sigil on Cas’ back finished healing in about a week. With that gone, his power returned, and he was able to dismiss his wings and finish healing the rest of his wounds. It was freeing to finally be without pain, to move without worry. And he felt better with his wings hidden away. They were healing quickly now, the break in the right one almost completely better, and the long flight feathers growing back in. They’d be back to their usual state soon.

He still didn’t leave the bunker when he was mostly healed, didn’t feel comfortable with going back in the world just yet. He thought it would seem ridiculous to Sam and Dean, but neither of them questioned him or pushed him. He loved them even more for it, was glad that they understood that he would go out when he was ready.

There was one thing that was still wrong though. Cas found that he would grow tired and that he needed sleep. It was like the torture had left a permanent scar on his grace, so that he weakened at the end of each day like a human and needed to recharge. He had wanted to give Dean his bed back and had told him that he would just sleep in the guest bedroom, but the older Winchester had adamantly said that Cas was going to stay in his bed, that it was his bed now too. And so, each night, usually after lovemaking, Cas found himself falling asleep in Dean’s arms or vice versa, feeling safe and content.

One day soon, Castiel had his mind set on showing Dean his wings. It would be the first time showing him them of his own volition. That was a whole other emotional thing to figure out, but he’d get through it. It would be better this time. It would be Cas’ choice, and they would be full and beautiful rather than broken and bloody. He would let Dean touch them before wrapping them around his body and telling him, once again, that he loved him, truly and deeply, loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone want me to tell Crowley that you said 'hi' when I get to Hell?


End file.
